


The Romance of Foxfire and the Dragon Pearl

by kitsunealyc



Category: The Foxdragon Series - Naomi VanDoren
Genre: Folklore, Gen, Worldbuilding, bonus fanart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunealyc/pseuds/kitsunealyc
Summary: There are many tales about where foxdragons come from. This is the one they tell each other.
Relationships: Fox/Dragon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raininshadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raininshadows/gifts).



Long ago and yesterday, as the elders remember such things, a young fox kit was chased by a pack of hounds. Or a hunter. Or some other herald of misfortune. He was an orphan, because all children in such tales are orphans, with no family to protect him, no cozy den to shelter in. He only had the wide world: the jungle, the river, the sky. First, the fox – we will name him Foxfire, for that is his name in the tale – sought refuge in the jungle.

“These vines are surely too thick for those husky old hounds to squeeze through,” Foxfire said to himself. He was alone, so there was no one else to speak to of his many clever ideas. And so, he slipped between the vines, lithe and laughing, and thought his pursuers would not follow.

But hounds, and hunters, and other heralds of misfortune are not so easily discouraged. They dug and they dug, with heavy paws and sharp claws. They brought machetes and shovels. They tore under the vines, or through them, and filled the jungle with their barking and bragging.

No longer was Foxfire safe to battle the well-armored pineapple or stalk the elusive mango. How could anyone concentrate with such noise all around? Now a rangy young fox-dog with black legs all gangly and tangly and a coat as fine as any sunset, he fled the jungle and raced to the river.

“Walls do not have to be high to be unassailable,” he told himself, for he still had not found a properly – or any – appreciative audience to regale with his tricks. “And surely those hounds and hunters and other heralds of misfortune would sink like stones if they tried to cross.”

So Foxfire dove into the river. The currents battered his lean body, the river weeds coiled around his legs to drag him under, but Foxfire kept his wits about him and his nose above the surface. Eventually he dragged himself up onto the far and foreign shore.

Across the wide river, the hounds barked. The hunters berated the heralds for mishandling the misfortune and dropping it on their heads instead. Foxfire left them to it, shook the water from his coat, and set off to explore his brave new world.

He found rice fields and chicken coops, and farmers who weren’t nearly quick enough to guard such things from a crafty young fox. He made himself king of this new country, and regularly visited his many subjects for feasting.

But misfortune is persistent, and hunters and hounds the same. Banding together, they built boats and bridges and crossed the great river. They flooded the rice fields, swept the farmers up in their furor, and ate all of Foxfire’s chickens.

So rude!

Deciding the duties of leadership were too onerous for a lone fox to handle, Foxfire – now a handsome young rogue in his prime – abandoned his kingdom to the invading hordes.

But the hunger of the hounds, the hunters, and the other heralds of misfortune could not be satisfied with their easy spoils. They had set out, lo those many years ago, to catch a fox, and they would not rest or retire until they had done so.

The wide-open flats of the rice fields offered no place for Foxfire to hide, and he ran and he ran without rest until his bleeding paws stained the water of the paddies the same rust red as his coat. He was close to losing hope, to lying down and giving up, for the only place left to hide was the sky, and not even clever foxes can fly.

But when he looked up to bemoan his lack of wings, Foxfire saw clouds rising above him. And above the clouds rose a great spire of rock. And atop the rock rose the leaves and limbs of a great tree.

Foxfire said to himself, for there was no one else to listen, “Well, if I cannot fly, neither can my pursuers, and I can climb where they cannot.”

He climbed, leaving a trail of bloody paw prints in his wake – past the clouds, up the mountain, into the widespread branches of the great tree. There he rested, licked his paws, and waited to see if he’d finally found a place of safety.

“And if I haven’t,” he said to himself, for who else would hear him way up where the earth touched the sky, “Then I will become a spirit. The joke will be on them if they dare to follow me into the afterlife.” For Foxfire was very good at seeing the best in a situation, even if that situation was his imminent demise.

Imagine his surprise, then, when someone answered.

“Why are you so keen on escaping your admirers,” they asked. Imagine Foxfire’s surprise! He almost tumbled from the tree, down the mountain, past the clouds, and straight into the clutches of those annoying hounds and hunters and heralds of misfortune.

So perhaps the ever-articulate Foxfire can be forgiven for only responding with a confused, “Eh?”

Below him, a creature long and serpentine, sinuous and lithe, unwound itself from among the many twisted roots. Their scales flashed with the iridescence of abalone and gleamed with the luster of pearl. They were lightning to Foxfire’s flame, and he decided he had never seen anything as lovely.

“Well, hello there,” Foxfire said, because he didn’t have much experience at speaking with others or with courting, and he wasn’t very good at either of them.

The lovely creature’s drooping whiskers quivered in what Foxfire hoped was gentle amusement. He hid his head under his sore paws and thought perhaps he shouldn’t try so hard.

“Ah, what was it you said before?” Foxfire asked. If he let the lovely creature do the talking, then he was much less likely to make a fool of himself.

Delicate, curved claws dug into the bark, and the lovely creature climbed the trunk and wound around Foxfire’s branch until they were snout to snout. Their breath smelled of rainstorms and stone, that scent we call petrichor. Their eyes shone like chrysoberyl. They were very lovely, and Foxfire can perhaps be forgiven for being a bit smitten.

“The ones below who admire you so, why do you run from them? Do their offerings not please you?”

“Ah, you are mistaken. The only thing they want to bring me is harm,” said Foxfire sadly. “They have chased me into the jungle, across the river, and up into this tree which touches the sky.”

“But why would anyone wish you harm when you are so handsome and dashing?” the lovely creature asked, and Foxfire was glad for his red coat, for it let him pretend he wasn’t blushing.

“Ah, well,” he said, and then explained to the lovely creature the nature of hounds and hunters and heralds of misfortune, and the unique relationship they had with foxes, and perhaps he digressed a bit on the deliciousness of chickens and the frustrating challenge of pineapples, but only because the lovely creature admitted to not knowing much of the world beyond their tree, and they asked.

Eventually, they also asked his name.

“I am called Foxfire,” he said, choosing one on the spot. He’d never had reason to have a name before, but he felt this was a fine one and suited him well.

“And I am the dragon, Pearl.”

Foxfire had never heard of such a thing as a dragon, but he thought the name Pearl suited this one very nicely.

Now properly introduced, they spoke of many things – the flow of the river, the flight of the birds, the ubiquitousness and deliciousness of beetles. Foxfire listened in astonishment as the dragon, Pearl, told him why they had never had a reason to leave their tree – of the admirers who would make long pilgrimages, and the variety of gifts and offerings they laid among the roots of the tree.

“Sometimes I have so much to eat that I worry it will rot, and I have to call the birds down from the sky so it doesn’t go to waste!” the dragon, Pearl, said, and Foxfire could hardly believe it. Not even the farmers of his former kingdom had been so generous!

While they spoke, the night grew dark and the stars came out. They drifted closer and closer to listen to the tales shared between Foxfire and the dragon, Pearl, until they were nestled among the branches and the entire tree burned with their light.

Dragon and fox forgot the world below, until the first hooks flew up from the clouds to bite into stone, followed by ropes, followed by hounds and hunters and other heralds of misfortune.

“They are very persistent, aren’t they?” observed the dragon, Pearl, watching them with the curiosity of a creature who had never known fear.

“That is the abiding characteristic of such pursuers,” Foxfire sighed. He had needed this rest and enjoyed his first conversation with someone besides himself, but his troubles were his own, and he wouldn’t burden his new friend with them. “I will lead them away so they don’t set their sights on you.”

The stars protested at having their entertainment spoiled, but none protested so loudly as the dragon, Pearl.

“This is my home, and now it is yours,” they declared. “We will test the limits of their persistence, and we will break it!”

As Foxfire watched in astonishment, the dragon, Pearl, organized the listening stars into bombardier battalions and send them out of the tree, down the mountain, and into the clouds. They fell on the heads of those hounds and hunters and heralds of misfortune like an avalanche of light, a meteor-shower of misery. The clouds flashed with white fire and rang with startled cries, until eventually everything fell dark and silent. The hooks tumbled free. The ropes went slack. The stars returned to the branches of the tree and demanded more stories for their hard work.

Foxfire had known excitement. He’d known adventure. He’d known all the dangers and wonders of this world. But he’d never known comfort, or peace, or safety.

“I think I love you,” he said to the dragon, Pearl, through a well of happy tears that fell like stars.

The dragon, Pearl, tucked their head shyly under a coil and said, “That is convenient, for I think I love you, too.”

All the stars sighed in contentment as the sun rose and they fell into slumber, for wasn’t this the best ending to any story?

But it was only the beginning for Foxfire and the dragon, Pearl. They lived in their tree and fed each other stories. Sometimes admirers came with gifts and offerings for them; sometimes the hounds and hunters and heralds of misfortune returned to trouble them. But Foxfire and the dragon, Pearl, looked out for each other, which is what we all should do for one another.

They had many children – the first of the foxdragons – and those children played with the stars, and their children are the orbs who to this day still shine brighter to hear a good tale.

Foxfire and the dragon, Pearl, have long left this world. They followed the stars one morning on a fantastic adventure, and have yet to return. But their tree still stands, atop the mountain above the clouds that is the great city of Ora. Someday, they will return to their first home. They will bring the stars with them, and we will be like their admirers of old and gift them with tales of all that has passed in their absence.

And if the hounds and hunters and heralds of misfortune seek to trouble them, we, their children, will fall upon those pursuers like angry stars, and drive them from this world.

\--The Origin of Foxdragons, as told by Panu, foxdragon elder


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi recipient!
> 
> The story is obviously your main gift, so think of the following fanart as additional treats. I can't pretend to be anywhere near Naomi VanDoren's skill level, and I didn't even bother trying to mimic her style, but I hope you like them as illustrations for your story.
> 
> Cheers and happy Yuletide!

**Author's Note:**

> So much gratitude to my betas who-will-be-named-later for their encouragement and their keen eyes.


End file.
